In The Mirror
by Rattlesnake Smile
Summary: Ethan Correa is just trying to get by after the "accident." Unfortunately, he owes some money to some very powerful people and eventually someone comes to collect. All this sets something in motion that Ethan has no control over, but he is just one piece in a much bigger picture.
1. Doppelgänger

_So, this is an AU with no werewolves, but its not exactly and All-Human AU, if that makes any sense. This is basically the plot of the television show Heroes, but with the characters from Teen Wolf. Each character that has a major role to play will have their own multi-chapter story that's part of a bigger universe. Note that, if you remain interested, that the stories need to be read in order of the update to make sense. I've set it up like comics. What happens in one story will have an effect on what happens in another, even if its just cameos from other characters. _

_Also, I'll be dropping hints so pay attention._

* * *

**In The Mirror**

The strobe lights flashed and pulsed while the music thrummed through the multitude of bodies packed onto the dance floor. On various podiums dotted through the club, as well as in cages hanging from the ceiling, there were men dancing. Most of them were in skimpy underwear but some wore themed costumes, such as sailor or cowboy. You get the idea. A club filled with dancing male-model types and plenty of shirtless young hunks on the dance floor, as well as a few drag queens should enlighten you.

Welcome to The Jungle.

Ethan Correa danced to the beat, his body swaying back and forth, his muscles accentuated by the swirls and splashes of fluorescent pink paint. The paint and his white briefs glowed in the dim of the club, brought out by the ultraviolet lights set up in various locations. Moving down the bar, he squatted in front of a patron beckoning him and got a five-dollar-bill shoved into his briefs while a shot of vodka was raised to his lips. Downing the burning liquor, he smiled and gave the shot glass back before sliding down on his knees, allowing another customer to put some more money in his briefs. The entire time, even when he was smiling, those big brown eyes of his were scanning the faces of the club's patrons, searching for one person in particular.

This is pretty much how his night has gone. And the night before that. And the week before that. You get the idea. Most guys would have the time of their life dancing on a bar in their underwear, having other men shove money down their pants and buy them drinks. But to Ethan it was just a job. He had fun sometimes, but mostly it was just a way to pay bills and try to slowly climb out of debt. Especially on nights like this. He was just one of the gogo boys dancing around, not one of the main attractions on the stage that took up a nice chunk of the floor. The nights he actually got to put on a show were so much more satisfying than just shaking his groove thang on the bar. This wasn't Coyote Ugly.

An hour later saw Ethan in the changing room for the dancers, sitting before a mirror and wiping the glitter and guy-liner from his face, the body paint already taken care of, a stack of crumpled bills sitting before him.

"Good night?" Ethan looked over and saw another dancer, Jonas was his name, sitting down at his own little table and counting out his money.

"It was alright." Ethan responded, wiping the rest of the make-up and glitter away. "Pays the bills at least."

"I hear that." Jonas laughed as Ethan got up and grabbed his street clothes from the locker beneath his "work station." Shamelessly, as most of the dancers had seen each other nude plenty of times, Ethan stripped out of his work briefs and pulled on his more comfortable Calvin Klein boxer briefs, shortly followed by a pair of jeans worn so many times the denim was soft and comfortable. A white v-neck covered his bare torso before he sat back down to pull on his socks and sneakers. "You done for the night?" Jonas asked as he glanced over and saw Ethan getting dressed.

"Yeah." Ethan responded as he laced up his shoe. "Early night tonight and rehearsal tomorrow morning. I'm on the stage tomorrow night. Gotta get ready."

"Nice." Jonas nodded before going back to counting his money. Ethan stood up and slid on his leather jacket and placed his earnings for the night within the jacket's internal pocket. "See ya 'round." Jonas said, not looking up from his money as Ethan walked behind him toward the exit. Ethan, however, paused behind Jonas, having seen something in the mirror, like his reflection had paused a bit too long when he'd walked past. Frowning, Ethan gazed at his reflection for a second or two before continuing on his way.

"Later." Ethan commented absent-mindedly before descending the stairs to the dancer's entrance/exit. Wishing the bouncer good night, Ethan tuned down the alley and made his way through the streets of West Hollywood to his tiny apartment, ear-buds plugged in and the pulsing sounds of the Bloody Beetroots playing. Above him, as the clouds parted, one would be able to see the full moon looming over Los Angeles, bright and clear despite the hundreds of thousands of lights and the dense layer of smog. As Ethan walked, oblivious to the world around him, a shadow began to cross over the silvery façade of the moon, painting her face a bloody red. A lunar eclipse. A blood moon, only happened four times a year, and no one could ever predict whether it would block out the light altogether or paint the Earth's only natural satellite the color of blood. All across the country, people were gazing skyward to watch the event, but Ethan continued on, completely unawares, locked in his own head worrying about the problems his life had run into recently.

The troubled young stripper was broken out of his reverie when he got off the elevator on his floor. Currently, he was the only tenant on his floor, which he was fine with. He took his clothes off for a living, so he liked his privacy. That's why he now wore a confused look on his face. His landlord hadn't called to say he was stopping by for any reason and Ethan wasn't expecting any guests. Not to be depressing, but Ethan didn't really have any friends at the moment. Especially after the accident.

Music now shut off, Ethan cautiously crept forward, trying to keep his steps light so as not to make a sound, iPhone and headphones returning to their place in his jacket. At the end of the hall where his apartment was, his front door was hanging open, the door frame splintered as if someone had kicked the door in. Now, I know what you're all thinking. Why doesn't he just call the police right away? Honestly, Ethan wasn't even thinking about that. What he was thinking about was whether or not he'd just been robbed and trying to think what he kept in his apartment that someone would want to take.

Pushing the front door open even further, slowly so as not to alert anyone that might still be inside, Ethan entered his apartment, taking in the overturned couch and trashed living room. It looked like a horde of five-year-olds had torn through his place, destroying everything. Stepping over the ruins of his coffee table, he looked down the hall toward the bedrooms, he saw equally disturbed areas through the open doors. Hearing something in the direction of his kitchen, Ethan turned, slowly like how people do in horror movies when they don't really want to see what's behind them. Standing there in Ethan's kitchen was a tall, broad man, easily twice Ethan's size, rooting through his pantry and stuffing his face with a bag of chips. As quietly as possible, so as not to alert the man to his presence, Ethan made his way back to the front door, making a dash once he was close enough, only to have another guy grab him from behind, his hand a vice around Ethan's neck.

"Welcome home Ethan." the man who grabbed him growled, some greasy slime ball with too long hair, a face in good need of a shave and a jacket that needed some serious tailoring to cover the gun in its holster. The other an exited the kitchen at a leisurely pace, still munching on the chips. Ethan was dragged through the apartment, back the hallway and toward the bedroom before was shoved unceremoniously onto his unmade bed.

"Mr. Deucalion wants to be nice about this." The guy who grabbed him said as he dragged a chair from across the floor and turned it to face the bed, sitting down and staring down Ethan, the big guy moving silently behind him. "But fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money."

"Fifty?" Ethan asked loudly. "It was thirty. Even with interest - "

"Like I said." The mouthpiece interrupted him. "Mr. Deucalion wants to be nice. That's why he sent us." The slime ball smirked, his eyes roving over Ethan's fit frame. "He figured someone who had..." He licked his lips. "... similar interests might be able to help you come up with the money you owe him." The tall giant smirked as well while the Mouthpiece settled into the chair in a more comfortable position. "I mean, you make your living by taking your clothes off for other guys. And rumor has it you do private shows." Ethan scowled. "So, you earn what? Fifty dollars for every half an hour you take off you clothes? Why don't we give you a chance to lessen your debt a little." Ethan didn't even attempt to keep the look of disgust off of his face.

Behind the Mouthpiece, the giant picked up Ethan's video camera from his desk and turned it on, training the picture on the young man's scowl.

"Come on." Mouthpiece spoke. "Let's get this party started." Pushing his thoughts of disgust to the back of his mind, Ethan violently took his jacket off and flung it to the side, away from the thugs, hoping they wouldn't notice the money he'd earned tonight. "That's right." Mouthpiece sighed, tongue darting out between lips before retreating again. "Lets see those abs."

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Ethan let it out slowly before he reached down for the hem of his shirt. He fell back onto routine and pulled it upward slowly, revealing inch after inch of smooth, tawny skin and muscles that looked like they were carved. Mouthpiece held up a hand, indicating he wanted Ethan to stop, so the stripper left the shirt bunched up under his armpits, revealing the long, clean lines of his hard-earned torso. Once again, lips were licked and hands were waved, allowing Ethan to return to his strip show. Leaving his shirt alone, Ethan let his hands travel down through the valley of his abs to his belt buckle, undoing it easily with deft and nimble fingers. With the belt open and out-of-the-way, Ethan slowly, and sensuously popped open the buttons of the fly, revealing the blue cotton of his boxer-briefs.

Pausing for dramatic effect, Ethan glanced away from the thugs and caught the eye of his reflection in the mirror hanging on his closet door. That's when he paused completely. The reflection staring back at him wasn't him. Physically, yes, it was Ethan but the expression wasn't anything that Ethan ever wore. It was a haughty look, looking at it's doppelganger like it was a pathetic worm beneath his shoe. It was a look of disappointment.

"Come on, baby boy." Mouthpiece spoke up, noting the sudden lack of movement. "It was just starting to get good here." Ethan's gaze swiveled back to the piece of scum sitting in his bedroom, now hardened and resolute. The scum stood up and backhanded the young stripper to regain his attention.

"Screw you." Ethan ground out, a small trace of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Screw me." Mouthpiece spoke, a look of rage covering his face. "Screw you." A fist coming toward his face was the last thing Ethan saw before his world went black.

**- IN THE MIRROR -**

Ringing.

That's what roused Ethan from a very deep and comfortable sleep. An annoying, constant ringing. It would pause every moment or so before starting up again. It took Ethan's brain a moment to process that what he was hearing was his phone ringing. Eyes still closed because of the bright sunlight pouring in through his window, he reached across his bed for his phone. Instead of his iPhone, his hand came into contact with something sticky. Something liquid. Groggily, almost as if he had a hangover or had gotten into a fight, Ethan forced his eyes open. The world that swam before his gaze was blurry and moving but after a moment or two, everything righted itself and became clearer.

Ethan wished it hadn't.

Sitting up abruptly, Ethan's head whipped from side to side, trying to take in all the details even while his brain was trying to reject what it was seeing. There was blood staining the walls and more damage done to his desk and the actual frame of the bed, if the way the mattress was dipping dramatically was anything to go on. But what was most disturbing was the two thugs that had assaulted him earlier... or, at least, what was left of them. Mouthpiece was still, mostly, in one piece. One arm dangled loosely from its socket, whatever ligaments or muscle that was holding it there invisible beneath the blood-stained leather jacket. His shirt had been ripped open and the flesh beneath was mutilated and bloody, like raw hamburger. The finishing touch was the giant mirror shard sticking out of his neck.

The other thug, tall, big and silent, was literally in pieces. His arm lay at the foot of the bed while one of his legs from the knee down was tangled in Ethan's bedroom curtain. The man's head was sitting on Ethan's dresser, staring at the young man with dead eyes, while the main bulk of his body lay near the bedroom door, torn in half. No, literally torn in half. His upper body lay just outside the bedroom, as if he'd been trying to crawl away, while his lower half was closer to Mouthpiece's body, his viscera and internal organs strewn out between the two pieces.

Ethan couldn't stop looking, even as he felt the bile rose in his throat, threatening to dirty the room even more. Tearing his eyes away from the grizzly sight, he looked down and noticed for the first time that he was completely clean, his white shirt still pristine and his jeans still comfortable and clear of any blood. With the level of carnage in the room, one would think some of the blood spatter would have hit him, but here he sat, fresh as a daisy.

As he was checking himself, making sure he wasn't injured, he noticed the camera that had recorded his earlier degradation sitting near him on the bed, the red light still on, indicating it was still recording. Quick as a viper, Ethan snatched it up and shut off the record button, getting ready to rewind and see what had happened in here. Before he could, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He jumped, startled by the thought of someone else being in the room with him. Looking around, his eyes landed on the mirror hanging on his closet door, now cracked and shattered in places, the large chunk missing from the top looking suspiciously like the piece in Mouthpiece's neck.

But what really captured his attention was his reflection. Where Ethan was clean and unsullied, his reflection was spattered in blood, the crimson liquid contrasting violently against the white t-shirt and making his reflection look like a barbarian just off of the battle field with the spatters on his face and arms. Ethan watched in horror, as his fractured reflection raised a hand to his lips, which were curved into a bemused smirk and put a finger to his lips.

Ethan ran.

* * *

_Please let me know what you think. I'll hopefully have Scott's up in the next day or so._


	2. Stolen Time

_So, the story I've gotten the most hits on so far has been 'Meant For Something Greater', which is my Scott story. I'm happy about that, but honestly I'm having the most fun writing Ethan's story here. It's close to whatever I have that passes for a heart._

_Also, don't worry. I know that the pairing in this says Dethan, but he's not quite here yet. He will be here eventually though._

* * *

**In The Mirror**

**Stolen Time**

Ethan threw up in the alley behind his apartment building, the carnage he'd witnessed finally catching up to the front of his brain. Once he was done retching and emptying his stomach of what little contents it had, he moved down the alley a bit more before leaning against the gritty brick wall and began to take in large, gasping breaths of what passed for fresh air in Los Angeles, trying to get the smell and taste of his own sick from his nose and mouth.

When his head eventually cleared, he realized his phone had been ringing. Forcing himself to stand up, he pulled his phone from the jacket he had managed to grab at the last second when he fled his apartment and saw that he had three missed calls in the last ten minutes, all from work. Clicking on his voicemail, he listened to the messages from his boss, each one growing more frustrated as he basically just told Ethan to get his ass to work for rehearsal or he wouldn't have to worry about coming in ever again. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he stepped over the spatter of vomit and moved toward the street where his piece-of-shit car sat.

After the accident, he had sold his motorcycle to help pay for bills and other unexpected expenses, buying this crappy car to compensate. As he approached the vehicle, fishing his keys out of his pocket, he dialed work, his manager answering on the second ring.

"Hello?"

"I'm so sorry." Ethan started out with an apology.

"You better have one hell of an excuse." The man practically growled on the other end of the phone. "You're an hour late."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but something came up at the last second." Ethan glanced involuntarily up toward his apartment windows. "But don't worry, I'm on my way right now. I'll be there in ten minutes." Ethan tossed the camera that he snagged from his bedroom before fleeing his home onto the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel of the car, sliding the key into the ignition and starting the car.

"Be here in five." His manager barked before hanging up. Taking one last look up at his windows, Ethan took a deep breath and steeled his mind. Right now he had to prioritize. Ditching work would just arouse suspicion, not to mention he did actually need the job. He would have to worry about what waited for him when he got home. Buckling his seatbelt, he took off for work, breaking a few speed limits in his haste to get there. And, of course, because it was just his luck, he got stuck in a traffic jam. While he sat impatiently, occasionally honking his horn like the other angry drivers, he kept glancing over at the camera sitting next to him in the passenger seat. When it became apparent that traffic wasn't going to be moving anytime soon, Ethan gave into curiosity and reached for the device.

Opening the viewing screen, Ethan went to the last recording on the digital camera and hit play, the small screen immediately filling with the image of his bedroom, with him kneeling on the bed, looking both pissed and terrified while Mouthpiece prattled on off camera. He watched all the events he remembered, from throwing off his jacket and the raising of his shirt to when Mouthpiece came into the shot and backhanded the him on camera when he told the thug to go screw himself. As he watched the hit, his hand came up to his cheek, where he'd been hit, but he didn't even feel a bruise. He saw the second blow coming on the camera, but that's where things had gotten fuzzy the night before. In the camera, he watched as he had caught the thug's fist in his grip and glared, not looking at all like himself.

He looked murderous.

Ethan watched as he squeezed the thugs fist until the sound of bones crunching was audible over the speakers, accompanied by the pained shout of the Mouthpiece. The Ethan on the screen shoved the thug back, knocking him into his accomplice who dropped the camera, which now faced toward the mirror on the closet door, recording the reflections of violence caught in its glassy surface. Ethan watched as the picture cut out after the camera had been knocked around again, the image he was looking at now reminiscent of television static. The audio, however, still worked perfectly, allowing a horrified Ethan to listen to the tortured screams of the men as they were being murdered, accompanied by the meaty sounds of bodies being ripped apart. Unable to look away, he didn't see the traffic was finally starting to move until the car directly behind him laid on their horn.

Startled, Ethan looked up and saw he was no longer sitting in traffic. Hell, he wasn't even in the city anymore. He was sitting in his car at the very edge of a vast, mostly empty parking lot. Stepping out of the car, he looked around, camera no longer in his hand but his once-again ringing phone. Judging by the busy terminal he saw in the distance and the plane passing incredibly close overhead, Ethan was now at LAX, though how he had gotten there was a complete mystery to him.

Looking down, he realized his outfit had changed as well. Gone was his white t-shirt, comfortable jeans and ratty sneakers and in their place was a form fitting crimson tank-top, tight black jeans and a pair of fashionably scuffed black biker boots.

Once again struck with confusion, Ethan looked around once more before looking down at his phone, which had stopped ringing, seeing he had several missed calls, some from his bos, others by his co-workers, as well as a vast amount of text-messages. What alarmed him the most about what he was seeing was the time listed on the phone. Four hours had gone by since he'd been stuck in traffic, but to Ethan it had all felt no more than a few seconds.

Pushing all concerns for his mental health aside, he got back into his car and peeled out of the parking lot, racing for work and praying that he would still have a job when he got there.

**- IN THE MIRROR -**

"No." His manager snapped, seated behind his desk and somehow managing to look intimidating in his tie and glasses while his work space was littered with different colored thongs of various materials and pictures of semi-nude or completely nude men "I need employees that want to be here. And if they don't, this town is full of guys who would have a blast while working here." Looking over the rims of his spectacles at Ethan, he sighed before standing up and circling around his desk before leaning on it next to Ethan.

"Look, Ethan, I'm sorry, but this _is _a business." The man pointed out. "I need people who are going to show up on time, ready to go" He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off an oncoming headache. "We've given you a lot of leeway in light of what happened with your brother, but it's been almost a year now. It's time to move on." He slipped his glasses back on "This job's not for everyone, and I like you, Ethan, I really do, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to let you go. You've been late over a dozen times in the last six months alone, not to mention you very nearly assaulting several of our customers lately."

"How much do you like me?" Ethan asked, also standing and moving closer to his boss. "I mean, maybe we could work out some sort of arrangement." His hand moved up the man's chest, sensuously wrapping his tie around his fingers while he licked his lips. While Ethan had absolutely no idea what was happening to him, or what had happened to those missing four hours, he was actually grateful for the costume change. The outfit he'd found himself in after he'd "woken up" at the airport accentuated all of his good qualities and revealed plenty of skin, showing off the muscles in his bare arms, made his legs look longer and don't even get started on that ass. For any type of seduction, his outfit worked. "I really need this job."

"Don't embarrass yourself." His boss sneered, leaning away from Ethan. "You're not my type."

"No." Ethan growled back, his entire posture stiffened and tight now as the hand wrapped around the tie tightened into a fist and pulled, choking his boss and cutting off his air supply. "No, your type are a bunch of tweaked-out twinks that you can take advantage of in back rooms." The voice that came from between his lips were softer, deadlier and it made the man's hair stand on end. "There are plenty of us that know what you do when you disappear during work hours. Maybe you should reconsider your opinion on whether or not I have a job here."

"Or, I could just call security." The other man wheezed as his face began to darken due to the lack of oxygen. "Now let me go." At those words, Ethan snapped back into his own head with wide eyes as he realized what exactly he was doing. immediately he let go of the tie and his boss - sorry, former boss, began to take in choking gasps of air. Ethan took a few steps back to put some space between them while he tried to figure out what exactly had just happened. After a few more choking breaths, the manager of the Jungle stood up to his full height and glared at the younger man.

"Get out of my office." The man growled and Ethan steeled himself, adopting the cocky swagger his brother used to pull off so easily.

"Who needs this place anyway." Ethan spat before turning on his heel and opening the door to the office violently, a crack splitting it in half when it slammed into the wall. The manager of the club stood there dumbfounded, looking at the broken door while Ethan stomped off toward the changing room to collect what little belongings he had here, clothing and pictures and whatnot.

Out in the main floor of the club, some of the full-time dancers were working on a routine to replace Ethan for the night, while some of the others, mostly new dancers, were lounging by the bar, all eyes turning toward him when he exited the office. Most of those eyes were wide and no one moved a muscle as he stalked past, the whispering starting when he was what they assumed was out of ear-shot. Ethan ignored them and went to his work-station, pulling out the spare clothes he had in the locker beneath and taking the picture from the corner of his mirror. Ethan paused in his packing, sitting down in the chair and staring at the picture.

It was a worn photograph of what looked like a back yard BBQ with Ethan and someone that was obviously his twin. Each twin was on either side of a dark-skinned girl with wild, care-free curls who was obviously holding the camera up and away so as to take a group selfie. Standing behind the three of them and with an arm around either twin was a tall, dark-skinned man who looked strikingly similar to the girl - a brother perhaps - and he was crouching down somewhat to fit into the shot, all four of them smiling. Ethan ran his fingers over the worn out creases in the photograph and then over the words written in sharpie under their faces. "Me and My Boys!" It was sad to think that two of them were now dead with another missing, leaving Ethan here all alone.

Wiping at his eyes to brush away the forming tears, Ethan folded the picture and put it in his back pocket before throwing the rest of his belongings into a gym bag and standing up to leave, bypassing the spectacle that was sure to be waiting him on the main floor and simply slipping out of the building through the side entrance and heading toward his car.

He had things to take care of, but first... he needed a drink.

**- IN THE MIRROR -**

The glass sat on the top of the bar, the amber liquid barely coating the bottom as Ethan twirled it in between his hands. He'd been sober for over a year now, a year and six months at his last count, but he was seriously tempted today. After the accident, he didn't have anyone to keep him straight except for himself and he'd done pretty well, until today. The last twenty hours was just one thing after another, his problems piling higher and higher. Even still, even with the glass in his hand, he didn't drink.

"Long day, sweetheart?" a voice said from behind him, deep yet feminine. Looking over his shoulder he saw a drag queen sitting at a table in the corner of the dim bar.

"You have no idea." Ethan mumbled while he turned back to his drink.

"Want to see if it gets better?" The drag queen asked again. The younger man turned around in his bar stool to face the woman completely.

"I'll pass, thanks." Ethan said, sarcasm thick on his tongue, earning a laugh from the drag queen.

"Oh, sweety." She waved her large, manicured hand as if to say 'Parish the thought' before using that same hand to gesture him over. "You're not my type. Now come. Sit, sit." Shrugging his shoulders, Ethan reached behind him and grabbed his untouched drink and moved to join her at her table. "Now, what can Mysterious Marilyn do for you, hmm? Palm readings? A spin around the Ouija?" Ethan simply looked from the drag queen, noting the strong, square jaw under all the make-up before he looked down at the various trinkets and "instruments" spread out across the table before he looked back up, arching an eyebrow. "Mmm, tarot it is?"

Neatly brushing aside her other things, Mysterious Marilyn shuffles her tarot deck with fingers ending in too-long fingernails painted a tasteful burgundy color before holding out the cards for Ethan.

"Hand on the cards please."

"I don't have any money." Ethan pointed out, receiving a scoff and a wave of the other hand. Shrugging, Ethan reached out and put his hand on the tarot cards and watched while Mysterious Marilyn closed her eyes.

"Now, take a deep breath and concentrate." She intoned. "Picture the questions you have being answered." She took a deep breath in and slowly let it out while Ethan simply sat there and watched with a cocked eyebrow. After a moment of "concentrating," Mysterious Marilyn took the cards back and began to lay them out in a complicated pattern, her hands moving so fast Ethan could barely keep track of them, all of the cards face down. Once they were all laid out, Mysterious Marilyn took another breath before she flipped over a card in the center of the configuration.

"Hmm. The Two of Swords." She mumbled more to herself. "This card represents you and this particular card tells of two opposing views on a manner. Two separate paths that one could take." Her large eyes flickered up to Ethan's face. "Are you feeling conflicted about something?"

"Who isn't?" Ethan retorted, trying to keep his calm while wondering what he was doing here. Mysterious Marilyn barely suppressed an eye roll before moving to the next card, and the next and the next, flipping each one over and revealing what they were and what they meaned.

The Eight of Swords, indicating he felt restricted, stuck in a situation he couldn't quite figure out how to get out of.

The Fool, ignorance of something vital in his life. The Devil, an external or internal presence playing a major role in the events of Ethan's life currently. The Three of Swords next to the reversed Lovers, meaning he was suffering from heartache, possibly due to the separation from of a loved one. Strength , The World, Rebirth, Wheel.

And then there were the cards where she asked questions instead of just stating facts.

Death: Has he lost anyone close to him recently? Eight of Cups: Was he struggling with an addiction of some kind? That question had been delivered with a quick glance toward the glass of bourbon still in his hands, still undrunk.

Then she got to his possible future.

The Tower: a great change headed his way, or already happening. Ten of Swords: Betrayal. The Hermit in reverse: isolation and loneliness.

With each passing card and each question or statement that corresponded with something happening in Ethan's life, his felt his face growing more and more closed off. Before she could finish off her cards, he abruptly stood, drink still untouched and moved to leave, accidentally knocking over the pile of non-used cards, with one of them sliding before Mysterious Marilyn. She looked at that card, the others now forgotten and flipped it over, arching a perfect eyebrow.

"Did you get a new car recently?" She asked, and Ethan paused, turning to look at her incredulously.

"Do I look like I have the money for a new car?" He asked sarcastically, no longer trying to keep the disdain from his voice. He shrugged on his leather jacket, before turning toward the exit. "Thanks for the reading." He slipped on his aviators as he slipped out into the dying sunlight. Mysterious Marilyn simply shrugged her impressive shoulder before reshuffling her deck of tarot cards and reaching across the table for Ethan's forgotten drink.

**- IN THE MIRROR -**

Ethan pulled up in front of his apartment building, trying not to think about the crazy drag queen at the bar. Thankfully she had distracted him enough that he didn't slip and have a drink, but it had been close. Stepping from his car, he locked it behind him, noting the cherry-red classic convertible now parked out front, a Cadillac Eldorado if he wasn't mistaken, with the top down, of course, just begging to be stolen. Appreciating the luxury automobile while scoffing at the arrogance of its owner, Ethan grabbed his grocery bag full of belongings and cautiously entered his building, glancing around nervously as he did so. A quick ride up the elevator later and he was in his hall again, standing before his locked door and steeling himself to deal with the carnage inside.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, he inserted the key in the lock and entered, quickly closing the door and relocking it behind him. He rested his head against the wood of the door for a moment before reaching over with his eyes closed and flicking the light switch, flooding his living room with light. Once again he was taking deep breaths before he turned around... to find a spotlessly clean living room. Seriously, all the mess from the night before was gone, the television back in place on the wall, the coffee table in front of the couch and the carpet under both neatly vacuumed while the hardwood floor looked recently polished.

Blinking rapidly, Ethan's eyes darted everywhere, into the kitchen which hadn't even been this clean and bright when he'd first signed his lease, and then down the hallway, where all the pictures were righted on the wall and the doors to the bedrooms were now closed. Cautiously, Ethan placed down his bag of stuff on the coffee table before he crept down the hall as silently as possible, reaching his bedroom door far quicker than he would have liked.

Ever so slowly, Ethan turned the door knob and opened the door, revealing a room awash in light from the open windows and spotlessly cleaned. Not to mention decorated differently. The bed was bigger and wooden, no longer lopsided, with clean sheets and a comforter on top, as well as a mountain of pillows. His dresser had been replaced with a bureau complete with a large, wide mirror on top, facing the bed, while the mirror on the closet door had been replaced. The curtains hanging in the windows, as well as the pillows and sheets on the bed were all a dark, wine red color.

Overcome with curiosity, Ethan entered the room more, turning on the spot to examine the room in its entirety, his eye catching something shining on his second turn around. Hanging from the mirror above his new dresser was a chain and at the bottom of that chain was a key.

A car key.

Staggering closer, his mind swirling with too many thoughts and questions, Ethan grabbed the key and held it closer to his face before he looked as his reflection, seeing the Not-Him from the night before staring back, arms crossed and a look of superiority on his face. Not-him nodded toward the window behind Ethan, who looked over his shoulder to see it was the one that faced the street where his car was parked. Turning back around, he only saw himself in the mirror now, staring unbelievingly. Key firmly in hand, Ethan moved around his new bed toward the window, looking out to see what his wicked reflection had been hinting at. The first thing he saw on the street was that bright red car.

"No way." Ethan said to himself before quickly racing out of his bedroom and apartment, headed for the street. Less than five minutes later saw him sliding into the driver's seat of convertible, sliding the key into the ignition, identifying them as a pair. Ethan leaned back in the seat, sighing heavily, looking around at the car until his eyes fell on the glove box. Reaching over, he opened it and found a folded packet of papers. Opening them, he saw that the car was in fact a Cadillac Eldorado, 1959 to be exact, and according to the papers in his hand, registered to Ethan Correa. The now jobless young man stared with wide eyes at the piece of paper, expecting it to be some colossal joke. That's when he noticed the red sticky note on the back. Turning the papers over, he peeled off the sticky note and read the message written in his own messy scrawl. A message he didn't remember writing. It was a simple message, just one word.

Trunk.

Exiting the car, Ethan moved around toward the back, key sliding into the slot to unlock the trunk. Taking a deep breath, not knowing what he was going to find in there, Ethan cracked it open, finding the dead, glassy eyes of Mouthpiece staring at him. Shocked, Ethan stumbled and the trunk opened a bit further, revealing the broken and bloody bodies of the thugs who had assailed him the night before. Lying on top of the bodies, spattered with blood, was a map.

Glancing around quickly to make sure no one had seen, Ethan quickly snatched up the paper, his free hand covering his nose from the smell before he slammed the trunk closed again. Taking in several breaths of cleaner air, Ethan stepped away from the car and looked at the map, noting the route drawn out in red marker and ending in a spot marked with a large red X.

Ethan took the hint and got back in the driver's seat, starting the car, the map next to him.

**- IN THE MIRROR -**

The sign in the road read "DEAD END" and showed a half-built bridge beyond. The sun had long set and night reigned. And night in the desert was a hell of a lot colder than one might expect. Ethan had been driving for hours, following the paths marked on the map, wishing he'd at least brought his jacket to combat the cold, though now he simply felt frustrated because he'd been led to the middle of nowhere. Growling in annoyance, Ethan put the car in reverse before backing up and turning around, stopping when his headlights lit up a spot of desert that had shovel sticking perfectly vertical from the ground. Frowning, Ethan reached for the map and realized he was at the spot the map indicated.

The terrified young man stepped out of the car, leaving the headlights on so he could see what he was doing, glancing down the deserted highway to make sure there was no one coming. He approached the shovel and after another look around, wrenched it from the dirt. After staring at it for a few moments, he began to dig, realizing that this was what he came all the way out here for. Whoever was messing with him had led him to the perfect spot to hide the bodies.

Ethan continued to dig until he felt the shovel strike something harder than dirt, the impact reverberating up the shovel and his arms. With a look more commonly found in horror movies, Ethan put the shovel aside and knelt in the dirt, brushing the sand and soil away from whatever his shovel had struck, falling backward on his ass with a startled yell when a skull was revealed.

* * *

_Also, in case it's too confusing, I've split the characters from Teen Wolf and sort of assigned them the roles of the characters from Heroes, but with twists expected of the characters from the former show. Ethan is the Nicki in this story and as I mentioned above, his story is the one I'm going to have the most fun with. Possibly because his is one of the most violent._


End file.
